


Business Transactions

by Tish



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bootblacking, Cigarettes, Cock & Ball Torture, Dubious Consent, Erectile Dysfunction, Forced to Kneel, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Prostitution, cigarette kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Crozier can't keep his deepest, most shameful desires a secret.





	Business Transactions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skazka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/gifts).



The lamp threw flickering shadows against the wall, grey with decades of grime and smoke. The young man stood in the corner, almost entirely enveloped in shadow, except for where the light danced upon half his face, highlighting the sallow skin over his cheekbone. As he lit his cigarette, the orange light briefly gave him some colour and Crozier found himself thinking that if he wore a white ruff, the man could have walked out of a Dutch Master's painting, still arguing with his fellow townsfolk.

He watched as the man slowly strode over, coming to a stop just before him.

“Looking for business?” The man's voice was casual, as though he were discussing the weather.

Crozier's hand twitched as he took it out of his trouser pocket, the coins gleaming in the dull light. He noticed the matching gleam in the man's eyes as he looked down, then quickly back up at his face.

“Course you are, sir,” the man continued, not waiting for Crozier to speak. “This way.”

Crozier watched the man lead off, quickly following him to a secluded spot along the fog-bound street. Off in the distance, the shouts of workmen and the clatter of offloaded wooden pallets echoed from the dockside.

“We won't be bothered here,” the man said as he breathed into his hands, rubbing them together slowly.

Crozier fumbled at his buttons, hiding a hitch in his breath as the man slid a hand past his to take over. The cold, night air briefly assailed his cock before the man's hands covered it, warming it as he started to pummel and pull at it.

Crozier felt himself getting light-headed and he staggered slightly, taking a step back against the wall. The man mirrored his move, never breaking his stroke rate or his grip. Crozier felt the man's hot breath against his neck as he pressed him harder against the wall and he pressed his palms flat against it, drawing his fingers up to claw against the brickwork. His breathing was ragged now, and he felt himself overwhelmed by the man's smell of cheap tobacco and stale sweat, and his own scent, mixing with the heat of his arousal.

He suddenly came with an undignified snort, and he wiped his nose with the back of his coat sleeve. Far too soon, his cock was flaccid, damp and slick in the man's fingers.

“I should perhaps charge you half, mister,” the man drawled slowly. “Or maybe I'll write you a chit for the rest on account?”

Face blazing and reddened, Crozier shoved his coins into the man's free hand, returning to once again fumble with his trouser buttons. The man took a step back and raised his other hand to his mouth, running his tongue along it as he stared into Crozier's eyes.

“Do come again, sir,” he said far too cheerfully as he turned on his heel and walked off.

Crozier slumped back against the wall, smoothing down his trousers and trying to catch his breath. He cursed himself, and his body for responding so quickly. There was so much he'd wanted -- to be forced -- to do and to feel. He shut down his thoughts, chased them away to a dark place in his mind and inhaled deeply, relishing the cold, punishing air. After a few moments, he felt able to step out into the street like a normal man again. 

 ~*~

A combination of the intervening years, copious amounts of alcohol, and the dark, misleading shadows leant the memory a hazy quality to Crozier. Sometimes he heard an accent that put him in mind of that man, other times it was the light falling across a face that set off the memory to come creeping up from its pit. He would push them back down with a glass at half tide, levelled up to high tide.

~*~

As he poured out two drinks, Crozier found both Hickey's voice and appearance somewhat familiar. The young man's excuse for a beard meant nothing, but still something scratched at the back of mind, like a fingernail against a brick wall.

He found himself wanting to throw Hickey onto the table, bent over and vulnerable, but his mind only gave him an image of himself leaning over the table, waiting as Hickey paced behind him.

His cock twitched at the fantasy and he down his whiskey at once, chasing away the thoughts. He hardly noticed Hickey staring carefully at his barely-touched glass, lost in his own thoughts.

 ~*~

 As the days and weeks worse on, Crozier drifted between states of clarity and fog-addled fuzziness. One day, the smoke cleared enough for him to watch as Hickey rolled a cigarette in thin paper, his fingers pinching off one end, then the other. Hickey's face was bathed in red-orange light for a moment, highlighting his hair and beard, before the muted light reclaimed his features.

Crozier stopped next to Hickey just in time for him to exhale a cloud of smoke, right in Crozier's face.

“My apologies, Captain,” Hickey's voice trod a fine line between deference and sarcasm. He held out his hand, offering the cigarette, head tilted and eyes narrowed. “You can have that one on account.”

Crozier swallowed a cough, the taste of that cheap tobacco in his lungs. “No, thank you, _Mister_ Hickey,” he rumbled.

Hickey gave him a small shrug in reply as Crozier passed by, Crozier's mind began to creep back to a buried memory as he walked, not catching the lazy smile Hickey gave to his retreating form.

In his cabin, Crozier stared long and hard at a bottle, before he pulled out the pitcher and jug of water. Eyes closed, he felt the cold water run down his face and chest, relishing the rough feel of the flannel cloth as he scrubbed his body. Pushing the wet cloth against his face, he saw orange circles as he pressed against his eyeballs. He imagined Hickey's cigarette pressing down on his exposed flesh, burning him as he lay under Hickey. In his mind's eyes, Hickey's boots pressed against his thighs, trapping him underneath.

He felt his cock twitch and he slowly undid his trousers, reaching in to grab himself. He flinched at the cold and a vision of a man blowing on his hands, rubbing them together formed in his mind. The man drew closer and took on Hickey's face, or perhaps it was him all along, in memory and fantasy.

His hand palmed against his cock, desperately trying to make the fantasy real, to bring the memory back, but too soon, his cock started to sag and slid back against his thigh, limp and shrivelled.

The bottle beckoned to him again and his mind fell into a haze.

 ~*~

The fog receded and Hickey was standing before him, drink in hand and a quizzical expression on his face.

“What about my boots?” Hickey asked, asinnocently as he could muster.

“They're a disgrace to the service. Have you never been taught how to properly care for them?” Crozier blurted out.

“They're working boots,” Hickey said, adding quietly, “sir.”

“Sit down.”

Hickey flicked his eye line to Crozier's glass. “Sir?”

“Do I have to repeat every thing I say for your benefit?” Crozier shuffled about in a set of drawers. “Now, sit.”

He turned to find Hickey sitting at the table, shuffling the chair slightly around. As Crozier slowly lowered himself to his knees, Hickey rubbed his chin to hide his smirk.

“Brush. Polish. Boots.” Crozier started to feverishly scrub Hickey's boots, an awareness growing in his drunken state of mind that he was growing hard, his cock pressing against his trousers.

He glanced up to see Hickey slowly tilting the drink in his glass as he looked down. Slowly, Hickey's other foot slid out along the floor and up Crozier's leg. Crozier stopped scrubbing and closed his eyes as he felt the leather slide along his thigh, coming to a stop against the bulge of his cock. He felt the foot turn and press into him, rubbing a little harder with each twist.

Crozier heard a small scratching sound, then smoke billowed into his face. He opened his eyes and mouth as Hickey leaned over, closer to his face. Hickey took another drag, then exhaled the smoke into Crozier's mouth, their lips almost touching. Still, the foot kept rubbing and nudging his straining cock.

“Take it out,” Hickey said, so very softly.

Crozier obeyed, his fingers fumbling at the buttons, his mind remembering a dream or something real.

Crozier watched Hickey examine the remains of his cigarette as he tugged at himself. Crozier felt the air hot in his lungs suddenly turn cold as his cock sagged to half-mast.

“Never last as long as they should,” Hickey said wistfully as he kept staring at his spent cigarette.

Crozier clenched his eyes shut as Hickey spoke, moaning as Hickey's foot kicked against his cock, before there was the sound of his boot dragging against the floor.

“Thanks for the drink and the advice, sir. I shall be polishing my leather all night long after this,” Hickey's cheerful voice carried across the room as he left.

 ~*~

The tide had long gone out from the bottles, and the fog had almost lifted from Crozier's mind. Almost.

He found himself before Hickey now. Alone, and with the wind whipping the flaps of the tent. The lantern reflected off the tent wall, bathing it in a soft tan light. Hickey leaned in, the light striking his cheekbone at an angle. An idea of an image of a Caravaggio chiaroscuro came into Crozier's mind, nagging at a half-remembered memory of an interminable walk around an art gallery.

He found his gaze drifting to Hickey's boots, noting that they were too big for him, knowing who they had belonged to previously.

“I'm an reasonable man, Mister Crozier,” Hickey began, planting his feet apart as he turned fully to face Crozier. “A promise made is a promise kept. You stay, anyone else is free to choose to go. I know what it is you desire.”

Crozier seemed to be watching himself from above as he knelt on command, touching himself over his trousers on Hickey's flick of a finger. He let himself be pushed face-down on the woollen floor lining as Hickey rose and circled around him.

Hickey stopped just in front of his face and he moved his boot next to Crozier's mouth. Crozier gingerly stuck out his tongue to lick it, his chin nuzzling the top as he worked his tongue along it.

A half-grunt of approval came from Hickey, and he let him keep going for a moment, before resuming his prowling circle.

The earthy smell of the well-worn rug stuck in Crozier's nostrils as he waited. After an indeterminable length of time, he felt a boot slide up along his leg, coming to rest at his crotch. It pressed against his balls and he spread his legs a little.

“Good man,” Hickey whispered to him as he pressed down harder.

Crozier groaned, throat constricted and dry. He felt his heart race as he sensed Hickey crouch down behind him, jerking slightly as his hand rested on the back of his thigh. There was silence as Crozier waited, wanting yet fearing what Hickey would do to him.

Pain shot through his body and soul as Hickey suddenly squeezed his balls, sending Crozier's mind into red and black lust. Hickey's cold hands suddenly lifted him slightly, ripping at his trouser buttons, and the cool air settled onto his bare arse and thighs as the trousers and undergarments were pulled down.

Crozier felt the sadistic grip on his balls again and cried out. “Oh, God, _yes_!” Shame instantly swept over him and he raked his fingernails into the wool.

“Am I your God, now?” Hickey pondered philosophically as he played with Crozier's cock, stretching it out to lay it flat. “I can destroy with the flick of a wrist, or a boot.”

Crozier's whole body jerked as Hickey put his weight down on his cock, twisted a little to crush his balls underfoot. He wheezed wordlessly, thrashing his hands beside him.

“Good,” Hickey breathed as he lit another cigarette.

Stars danced in Crozier's eyes, the pain and pleasure competing for dominance as he lay moaning. He flinched, hissing as Hickey grasped his cock again, but gentler, and starting to slowly pull and massage his balls. Still sore and struggling to stay conscious, Crozier let the feeling build within him, feeling his cock grow harder, begging himself not to succumb too soon.

He felt his head swim as Hickey's hand reached the head of his cock, smoothing across the wetness seeping out. He knew he'd tip over the edge too soon, nothing he could do could stop himself from losing it.

Something started to burn him, right between cock and balls, and he screamed, almost blacking out.

Hickey appeared in front of his blurred vision, one hand with the cigarette, the free hand slowly raising to his lips to lick the slick trail from his fingers.

Hickey's voice came to him as if from a dream. “A pleasure doing business with you. Sir.”


End file.
